Page 4 of Marin’s Promise

“Lady Marin.” In truth, she did not remember allowing Catriona to go outside. She recalled dealing with the ledger of the accounts she’d gone over with the steward; then there had been the inventory of the larder.

Ah, yes. There it was in her memory–Catriona spinning about the room with a little song and asking if she might pick flowers for Ella. Marin had half-heard the silly request and flippantly agreed so long as she took a soldier to attend her.

In truth, she merely wanted Cat out of the room so she might finish the growing pile of work in peace, before one of their other three sisters came to ask for something.

And now Eversham was dead and their impenetrable home breached.

The reiver continued toward the castle, nonplussed, with Bixby contentedly curled in his arms.

Marin gently rubbed Catriona's slender back. “There now, you needn't blame yourself. It is not your fault.”

And it wasn't at all her fault. Nay, the danger hovering over them all, threatening violence and fear and death–it was entirely Marin’s fault.

* * *

Bran Davidson strodeinto the keep like he owned it. And he did, at least for now. He lowered the black cat to the ground where it continued to follow him, trotting at his feet.

“Drake, see to the men,” he said to his most trusted reiver at his right. The young man had joined Bran three years back when he was barely a lad and had been invaluable ever since. He never questioned his tasks and was always willing to do anything to earn his keep, as he had a mother and several sisters back home that he supported.

For the first time since Bran had known Drake, the young man paused. He regarded the figures of the sisters behind them, the older one with her arm around the younger, and a muscle clenched in his jaw. Drake didn’t like this any more than Bran did. But he knew what he’d agreed to. The same as Bran. And he too knew what was at stake.

Finally, Drake gave an obliging nod and disappeared to follow orders.

Bran gave his own final glance back at the ladies. Catriona who had bowed into her sister’s embrace, and the bonny Marin. And damn, but she was so bonny. Only a blind man would not have noticed her angelic beauty with her pale blonde hair and wide blue eyes. Even with the barely suppressed rage she afforded him, she was lovely.

Guilt stabbed at him for having used the younger girl to gain entrance into the castle. But with the walls so damn high and well built, it had been his only option. He’d taken considerable care to ensure the girl wasn’t hurt.

In truth, he wouldn’t have killed her, but Marin need not know. God, how he hated this whole damn thing. Kerr had better uphold his end of the bargain after this was done. One never knew with that crooked warden.

Bran entered the keep and stopped short. He’d heard rumors of Werrick’s wealth from the Grahams, but he hadn’t believed it. After all, who could really afford tapestries sewn in silk to cover the walls, and thick carpet lining the cold stone floors, as well as so much furniture? Even the hallways were furnished and decorated.

Apparently Werrick could. No doubt money scraped from those who barely had enough to give, extorted from those who were too poor to be anything but vulnerable.

The scent of savory meat and herbs hung in the air. Bran’s mouth watered with hunger. How long since he’d last eaten a solid meal? Aye, a bit of cheese and bread here and there as he could afford, but a real meal–hot and running with juices that hadn’t congealed or gone rancid?

Too bloody long.

Maybe this task wouldn’t be as bad as he’d thought. After all, he’d been able to take the keep with only having caused one death.

Only a few days observation of the castle had revealed no additional troops were returning to guard the high walls. It was left as theirs for the taking. No doubt Kerr had suspected as much when he’d sent Bran.

A peasant woman leapt in surprise at his presence, and ran, slamming a door behind her. Another stab of guilt thrust into him. The people within the keep would be scared for only a short while, until they knew Bran meant no harm. At least until Kerr and his men arrived.

Bran made his way deeper into the castle, each hall and room seeming more opulent and ostentatious than the last. A waste, the lot of it. The coin used could have fed an army for a lifetime. With some to spare.

For the whole of his life, he had survived. Not lived, survived. Every damn day brought a new struggle to find food or shelter or both. It ground away at him until he could scarcely take another day of hunger or danger. Suddenly taking the castle held a note of vindication.

He climbed the stairs to the second floor and wandered into a room luxuriously decorated with tapestries of unicorns and lions. The rich furniture was polished to a high shine and shelves filled with books. Paintings of animals and flowers and whorls covered the great wooden beams along the ceiling in a colorful array of blue and red and green and yellow.

Sunlight poured in from a leaded window, each pane of glass carefully constructed in a circle, like the bottom of a bottle, and cast in iron. The light cast pure warmth against his hand where it touched him. He’d seen glass in a chapel once, several years back, but he had never seen it up close. He hadn’t realized castles now had glass windows.

He stepped closer and was startled to discover a woman sitting on the cushioned bench under the glass window. She’d been so still, and he’d been so awed by the room, he hadn’t noticed.

Her legs were curled toward her with a book resting on her knees. She had her fingers daintily propped on either side of the leather-bound cover and her blonde head leaned over the pages.

The mother? Another sister?

He cleared his throat. She held up a finger and did not bother to raise her head.